


the highest high

by dictionarysays



Category: SMAP
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dictionarysays/pseuds/dictionarysays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsuyoshi’s hung over and on top of Mt. Fuji.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the highest high

 

Tsuyoshi’s hung over and on top of Mt. Fuji.

His head is reeling and the back of his legs burn when they finally reach the summit; Tsuyoshi can’t find the energy to care and drapes himself across the first big rock he sees, exhausted and out of his mind. He sighs; he still can’t wrap his head around the Kimura (smiling giddily and jumping in one spot) behind him who’s been energetic since the bottom, he hasn’t lost a single step—not even once.

Isn’t Tsuyoshi the one with experience here? 

“Good job. You did good.” Tsuyoshi’s eyes are (blessedly) closed, but Kimura’s raspy-proud voice and hand on the back of his damp head says it all. Tsuyoshi lets loose a tired-happy- _thanks_  smile and doesn’t say a word when Kimura goes off to thank the staff.

A long time passes just like this, no one bothers Tsuyoshi’s limp (dead weight) body and he’s grateful. He wants to massage his temples but his hands are lodged between him and the big rock and there’s no way he’s going to move just yet. Tsuyoshi’s not completely despondent, but give him a day or two and he’ll figure out the magnitude of this climb. Hushed tones and breathy laughs reach his ears (he can picture the staff huddled around the flag, Kimura’s hands waving around, they’re having a good time nearly 4,000 metres in the air) and it starts to make him reconsider. 

The wind picks up and Tsuyoshi can somehow feel the sun on his arm as he starts twisting, rolling onto his side. He peers over blearily, everything is mildly blurry (boulders look like stubby trees and Kimura looks like a girl) and Kimura notices, he waves, his smile offhand. 

Tsuyoshi grunts in acknowledgement and Kimura must be a mind reader because he laughs and makes his way over. 

Tsuyoshi stares and can’t understand why Kimura looks so  _cool_. Wind is picking up russet-gold pieces of his hair and his smile is easy and huge (Tsuyoshi tries not to notice how white his teeth are) and he’s  _still_  not wearing a jacket. Why does he look nothing like the man in front of him, the one who just climbed a mountain too?

Tsuyoshi suddenly feels like a slug.

 “How’re you feeling? Better?” Tsuyoshi shrugs, quietly accepting the water bottle Kimura hands him. “Drink fast—we still have a kite to fly.” Tsuyoshi perks up a little at that (it has nothing to do with the charming grin all over Kimura’s face), he forgot—he’s not surprised, dancing elephants (also known as a hangover) and sleep are all that have been on his mind for the last several thousand feet.   

Tsuyoshi tries not to look too excited and puts up a bit of a fight when Kimura takes hold of his wrists, pulling him up with (far too much in Tsuyoshi’s opinion) ease. Tsuyoshi nearly trips on his feet but Kimura steadies him, hand at his side.

Tsuyoshi is still unsteady on his feet and his heels itch, but he doesn’t get in a word of complaint because Kimura shoves his backpack in his face. “Hold this.”

Usually Tsuyoshi wouldn’t mind, but he’s sick, tired of batsu games and would love to see Mt. Fuji disintegrate at this very moment. Kimura rummages through his bag, pulling out the kite; the backpack holds Tsuyoshi more than he holds it (the buckles are jabbed into his cheek). “ _Yosh_. All right, c’mon, let’s get this baby going.”

Why does Tsuyoshi let himself get dragged by Kimura? He has no idea too. But it could have something to do with the big school kid smile on Kimura’s face or maybe it’s the reassuring squeeze of his lean fingers wrapped around his own? It could just be the way the sunset’s playing with Kimura’s hair (all pinks and blues and pretty) or the way the sharp little rocks on the ground dig into his butt as he watches Kimura let the kite go, releasing string—and he doesn’t feel a single thing because suddenly there’s wind and the kite’s sailing through the air and even little rocks couldn’t take away from Kimura’s loud laugh in his ear.

 “ _Wowwowwow_. Look—it’s so  _high_! See? Isn’t it smart that I brought it? And you were worried I wouldn’t be prepared.” Tsuyoshi chuckles and even he knows that if he weren’t so high up right now and if the cameras weren’t still rolling—he’d be crying. Instead he smiles, combing a hand through his sticky hair, he almost gets stuck—Kimura’s eyes never leave the kite except for the shared glances that say  _this is so great!_  and  _only because it’s with you._

“Kimura.” 

“Yeah?” He’s still all smiles, eyes dancing; his hands unconsciously tighten around the string—Tsuyoshi can’t help but smile too, despite the pinpricks biting his face.

“Thanks. I couldn’t have done this with anybody but you.” And just for a second, Tsuyoshi forgets he’s on Mt. Fuji, sweaty and hung over.

The only thing he’ll remember first thing tomorrow morning is the crinkle Kimura’s soft grin makes under his left eye and the kite that starts to fly in Tsuyoshi’s stomach. He won’t realize how lame this is until he brings it up later on that day to Shingo.

But that’s okay, because he turns to look at the kite again and the sun is bright in his eyes and he’s happy. 

 


End file.
